


now close the windows

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the first time, and should have been, for all intents and purposes, the last time, because Enjolras doesn’t have the time for anything more than a one night stand, and it’s not a problem, because he’s good at it, good at picking strangers up in a bar, good at asking them to leave in the mornings. </p><p>But it isn’t.</p><p>It isn’t, because when Enjolras goes to his first Political Theory lecture of the second semester the next day, it is to find that Professor Lamarque has fallen ill, and will be replaced for the rest of the semester by Professor Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now close the windows

The first time, it’s an accident. 

Enjolras has a type, and Grantaire —R, as Enjolras had known him then— had checked all the boxes. And it was easy, so easy for him to return R’s flirtatious smile, to let R’s fingers dance and linger over the waistline of his jeans on the dance floor, to eventually press R against the door of his bedroom and kiss that fucking smirk off his face.

That was the first time, and should have been, for all intents and purposes, the last time, because Enjolras doesn’t have the time for anything more than a one night stand, and it’s not a problem, because he’s good at it, good at picking strangers up in a bar, good at asking them to leave in the mornings. 

But it isn’t.

It isn’t because when Enjolras goes to his first Political Theory lecture of the second semester the next day, it is to find that Professor Lamarque has fallen ill, and will be replaced for the rest of the semester by Professor Grantaire. 

—

It should stop there.

It really doesn’t.

—

He stands outside Grantaire’s office for an embarrassingly long period of time before he gets over his nerves enough to knock on the door. Grantaire calls out for him to go in, and he does, drawing a deep breath.

Grantaire doesn’t appear surprised to see him, and Enjolras doesn’t see a point in drawing this out. 

He says, “What happened at the bar-”

Grantaire sighs, and interrupts before Enjolras can finish. “It happened before you became my student, and it’s not going to affect your grade in my class, adversely or otherwise.”

It’s a relief to hear it, Enjolras swears it is. Except, “Otherwise?”

The curve of Grantaire’s smile is mocking. His voice drops when he says, “I’m not going to give you special treatment just because I know how gorgeous you look with my cock in your mouth.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Enjolras grits out, and clenches his hands into fists, balls them up so tightly he can feel his nails digging into his own skin, and the pain is good, is the only thing that is distracting him from reacting to the vision Grantaire’s just put in his head.

He’d thought that Grantaire would be reasonable about it, would try to never mention it, would pretend that the whole night never happened, but Grantaire apparently has different ideas, and Enjolras? Enjolras hates him so fucking much, but he can’t deny that he still wants to kiss that fucking mocking grin off Grantaire’s face.

“Good, I didn’t think you’d want me to,” Grantaire is saying, his smile more genuine now, like Enjolras has passed a test. “Is that all, Enjolras?”

And, unbidden, Enjolras hears Grantaire’s voice rasping _“Is that all, Enjolras? Is that all you’ve got in you?”_ , and swallows, because he can see it now, can see Grantaire on his hands and knees, turning back to fix that infuriating smirk at him, and he’d growled and fucked Grantaire harder and deeper and faster, intent on wrecking him as he’d done Enjolras earlier that night. 

Grantaire’s face is tinged slightly pink when Enjolras snaps back to attention, and Enjolras shoots up from his seat and makes an excuse to leave. 

He supposes he should take comfort in the fact that Grantaire was just about as affected as he was back there, but it’s hard to gloat when his heart is pounding an erratic beat against his ribcage, and his cock is painfully hard where he’s tucked in his skinny jeans.

—

The second time happens when Enjolras, against his better judgment, goes to Grantaire’s office during his consultation hour to present a reworded form of an argument of his that Grantaire dismissed earlier on during his lecture.

Nearly two hours and what could be construed by most to be a shouting match later, Enjolras finds himself on his knees before Grantaire, scowling at the zipper of Grantaire’s trousers as he tries and fails to work them down. The blow job that ensues is quick and dirty, almost too sloppy, but Grantaire seems to like it that way, seems to get off on the sheer magnitude of Enjolras’ enthusiasm.

He reaches for his own cock to jerk himself off when it becomes apparent that Grantaire is close, but stops himself when Grantaire says, “Don’t. Leave that for me. I’ll take care of you, I want to.”

After, when Grantaire’s had a chance to catch his breath, and Enjolras is back on his feet, Grantaire tugs him close, and says, “I could return the favour here, or you could fuck me back at my place.”

Enjolras reaches for his bag and his parka, and tries his best not to scowl when Grantaire grins at him, smug.

—

The third and the fourth time happen that evening in Grantaire’s apartment, the fifth time sometime in the middle of the night, the sixth happens the morning after Enjolras stays the night.

Enjolras stops keeping count after that.

—

At some point, Enjolras starts to spend the bulk of his time in Grantaire’s apartment. 

It doesn’t start out that way. 

It starts when Enjolras, through no fault of his own, finds himself outside Grantaire’s office during one of the days his break between classes coincides with Grantaire’s lunch break. 

“If you’re here about class, my office hour will resume at two p.m.,” Grantaire tells Enjolras when he sees him. His lips curl. “But if you’re not here about class…”

Enjolras feels his cheeks heat. “Why else would I be here?” he snaps, defensive.

“Why else indeed,” Grantaire says, still sporting that same slight smile that Enjolras can’t really understand. He closes the lid on his laptop, slides it into his bag, and makes his way to Enjolras. “Come on, then,” he says to Enjolras casually, and heads for the nearest stairwell. 

Enjolras follows right behind him, even though he knows he shouldn’t. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Grantaire tells him, glancing back at Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t know what Grantaire sees on his face, but it makes Grantaire’s smile grow. “I like going home for lunch,” he explains. “I figured that if whatever it is you want to discuss is going to lead to another two-hour debate, and it most likely will, knowing you, then it should be easier to deal with if we do it over food.”

Enjolras should protest; he doesn’t.

Instead, he follows Grantaire out of the faculty building, and across the now familiar footpath through the woods that leads to Grantaire’s apartment building.

“I’m almost always here,” Grantaire tells him over lunch. “If you’re looking for me, and I’m not in my office, I’m here.”

Enjolras doesn’t bother asking why Grantaire is telling him. Grantaire’s foot has been pressed up against his since they both sat down at Grantaire’s dining table, and it’s starting to look more like an inevitability that they’re going to end up having sex before Enjolras returns to the campus for his next lecture. 

It should be worrying, but Enjolras doesn’t feel anything beyond the anticipation of having Grantaire’s hands on him again. If he’s being honest with himself, this is the reason why he was outside Grantaire’s office today, and this will be the reason why he’s not displeased that Grantaire’s offered this information to him. 

—

Enjolras finds Grantaire to be attractive; he has already resigned himself to this much. He likes the way Grantaire’s hands explore his body, likes the way Grantaire’s mouth feels, likes the look in Grantaire’s eyes when he’s got Enjolras where he wants him.

But more than that, he finds that the more time he spends around Grantaire, the more he grows to admire and to respect Grantaire’s quick wit, his dry humour, and his expansive knowledge on the widest range of topics.

He ponders over the ease at which they’ve settled into this routine with each other —lunch at Grantaire’s every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday; dinner which inevitably turns into a sleepover that stretches into the weekend every Friday— that maybe they’ve both unwittingly started something that is a lot more significant than what they both thought it would be.

—

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says one morning, about seven weeks into this not-relationship. “C’mon, I’ve got an eight a.m. tutorial to teach, you need to let me go so I can get ready for it.”

Enjolras grumbles sleepily, and presses his face even closer to the crook of Grantaire’s neck, obviously having no intention of letting Grantaire go. It is early, _too_ early, and Grantaire is warm and comfortable; Enjolras doesn’t see any benefits in letting Grantaire go anywhere.

Grantaire huffs out a soft laugh, and presses his lips to Enjolras’ hair. “I’m going to be late,” he tells Enjolras, and pushes and prods at Enjolras gently until Enjolras pulls away from Grantaire just enough to scowl at him. “I really need to go. I’m subbing for Eponine, and she will kill me if I don’t show.”

“No,” Enjolras grumbles, and Grantaire grins at that.

“You leave me with no choice, Enjolras,” he says, and then he’s kissing Enjolras, firmly and fiercely, rolling Enjolras onto his back. 

Enjolras moans in approval even though his grip on Grantaire’s shirt loosens in surprise. Grantaire takes the chance to sit up, and slide out of bed. 

“Trickery!” Enjolras hollers at a retreating Grantaire, and if he’s smiling a little, that’s okay, because he’s already turning to press his face back into the pillow Grantaire has just vacated. 

“I asked nicely first,” Grantaire tells him. “What time’s your first class?”

“Ten,” Enjolras answers, voice muffled by the pillow he’s pressing his face into. As a general rule, he tries not to take any classes that start before ten; he’s useless for up to two hours after he wakes up every morning. 

Grantaire hums. “Go back to sleep,” he tells Enjolras. “I’ll set an alarm for you so you wake up in time. Just remember to lock the door on your way out.”

“Mm hmm,” Enjolras says, and drifts back into slumber breathing in Grantaire’s scent. 

—

Without making any form of a mention to their not-relationship, and without having discussed the perimeters of this not-relationship between them, Grantaire, casual as anything, passes a set of keys to Enjolras that afternoon, just as they’re about to head back to campus after lunch in Grantaire’s apartment. 

Enjolras stares at the keys, and then up at Grantaire.

“C’mon,” Grantaire says, heading out the front door. “You have that International Relations tutorial to go to, and if we don’t start walking soon, you’re going to be late.”

He should say something, but Grantaire doesn’t seem to be expecting Enjolras to react to it, seems to be completely down for the idea of ignoring the fact that he just gave Enjolras the keys to his home, so all Enjolras does is to pocket the set of keys, and reach out for Grantaire’s hand, lacing them together.

He holds Grantaire’s hand until they reach the edge of campus.

—

The thing about Political Theory is that Enjolras really only enrolled in it because Professor Lamarque was scheduled to lecture for it. He’d briefly consider dropping the paper after he found out that Grantaire was taking over, but he’s very glad that he hasn’t. 

Grantaire is, against all odds, a very good lecturer. He makes the class interesting, and he’s got a pretty good grasp on how to control the room even though Enjolras knows that Grantaire has only been lecturing for a year. 

The thing that makes the class for Enjolras is that Grantaire always has an argument. For _everything_. It is simultaneously the most frustrating and the most fascinating thing about Grantaire.

Enjolras enjoys Grantaire’s Political Theory lectures, he really does.

He doesn’t, however, enjoy Marius, who insists on sitting with Enjolras every time they have class together. 

This is not to say that Marius is a horrible person. Quite the contrary, actually. To his credit, Marius is smart, and comes up with good ideas whenever Grantaire tells them to discuss an idea amongst themselves. What Enjolras really doesn’t like about Marius is Marius’ tendency to moon over Cosette, always two rows down and one to the left of where they’re sitting, especially when Enjolras is trying to concentrate on the lecture.

Enjolras tries to be tolerant about it, but after three months of listening to Marius talk about Cosette’s eyes, and Cosette’s hair, and _Enjolras, look, Cosette and I are both wearing blue today, is that a sign, that must be a sign, yes?_ , Enjolras’ patience is really wearing a little thin.

“Look, I get it,” he tells Marius when class is over, stopping him outside the lecture theatre. “I get that you really like Cosette, but Professor Grantaire was making all sorts of emphasis on the things he was teaching today, which means that today’s lecture is probably very important for our upcoming test-”

Marius makes a face at him. “What upcoming test?”

“It hasn’t been announced,” Enjolras tells him simply. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you can’t keep talking to me about Cosette during the lectures because it’s very distracting for me, do you get what I’m saying?”

Marius nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you from the lecture. I just couldn’t-”

“Help but to notice that she looks very lovely,” Enjolras finishes for him, grinning wryly. “I get it.”

Marius goes bright red. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You should go talk to her,” Enjolras tells him, throwing a look over his shoulder at Marius, shaking his head a little at the look of horror on Marius’ face.

He catches up with Grantaire just as they’ve both reached Grantaire’s apartment complex. 

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Enjolras asks, breaking out of his light jog when he reaches Grantaire. He reaches out to take Grantaire’s hand in his, but frowns when Grantaire pulls his hand away. “What’s wrong?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire stops walking. “How did you know about the test?”

“What?”

“The test,” Grantaire says, voice hard. “The one that I haven’t announced yet. The one that I’m sure I never told you about.” He meets Enjolras’ eyes slowly. “The one that’s been sitting on the desk in my study at home.”

Enjolras’ lips part in surprise. He’s thrown off by both the coldness in Grantaire’s voice, and also Grantaire’s insinuations, and has to take a moment to process. 

Only, Grantaire takes the absence of an explanation on Enjolras’ front to be an answer all on its own, and barks out a bitter laugh. “Is that why you’re here? Why you’ve been sleeping with me?”

Enjolras draws in a sharp breath. “ _Grantaire_.”

Grantaire shakes his head, and turns to walk back to campus. 

—

Enjolras makes his way up to Grantaire’s apartment alone. He doesn’t think he can make his way back to campus, doesn’t trust the emotions bubbling up inside him. 

He’s not angry at Grantaire, not as such. More…disappointed that Grantaire would think so little of him, after spending so much time with him. Enjolras’d thought that Grantaire knew him better than this. But more than disappointment, he finds himself to be _sad_ , to be _heartbroken_ , and wow, that’s a whole new revelation in itself.

It’s not that he hasn’t been aware that his feelings for Grantaire have vastly transformed. He should’ve seen this coming, should’ve known that he would’ve fallen in love with Grantaire, should’ve guessed that it would hurt to love someone like this. 

He’s usually ravenous at lunch (Grantaire is an excellent cook, and he delights in the fact that Enjolras loves it when he cooks) but he can’t muster any sort of enthusiasm for food right now, so he settles for the next best thing — he changes out of his clothes into one of Grantaire’s oversized sweaters, climbs into Grantaire’s side of the bed, curls up and waits for Grantaire to come home.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because when he next registers consciousness, it is already dark outside, and Grantaire has just slid into bed. He keeps to the other end of the bed, and Enjolras’ chest tightens at the thought of Grantaire still being angry with him.

He scoots closer, presses himself along Grantaire’s back, arms wrapping around Grantaire’s midriff. “Are you still mad at me?” he whispers, sad. “Please don’t be? I swear I didn’t go through the things in your study. I _wouldn’t_. It’s just- You’ve been rushing through the syllabus, the last few weeks, and I remembered from my classes with Professor Lamarque last year that she always gives us a test just before we go on our mid-semester break. I just made an educated guess. That’s all it was, I promise.”

Grantaire turns over to face Enjolras. “I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t have,” he says in a rush. “Christ, Enjolras, I’m sorry.”

A surge of relief goes through Enjolras. He leans in to kiss the frown off Grantaire’s lips. “And I’m not sleeping with you to boost my grades in your class,” he tells Grantaire, because it’s important that Grantaire knows this. 

Grantaire makes a wounded noise at this. He kisses Enjolras again, fiercely. “Fuck. _Fuck_. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I said that. I _know_ you’re not.”

“Good,” Enjolras says. And then, because he might as well get it all out now, “I’m here because I love you.”

Grantaire inhales sharply. “ _Enjolras_ ,” he breathes. “I-”

Enjolras shakes his head. “You don’t have to say it back just because I said it,” he tells Grantaire. “That’s not why I told you. I told you because I wanted you to know.”

Grantaire smiles at that, fond. “I’ve been a little in love with you since the first time you came into my office, Enjolras. I gave you _keys_ to my apartment.” He kisses the corner of Enjolras’ upturned lips. “I’m definitely not saying it just because you said it first.” 

Enjolras snuggles in closer, and kisses Grantaire.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, because it needs to be said: I don't actually condone Professor/Student relationships. Like I know not all the unis have a thing against it, but guys, definitely more trouble than it's worth, so don't fraternise with faculty members yo.
> 
> As usual, [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com), come say hi! Also taking suggestions on what to write, so hit me up, y'all. :)


End file.
